


A Fight Over Belongings

by Clockwork



Series: Training the Pet [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blackmail, M/M, Manipulation, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockwork/pseuds/Clockwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim lays out his price to John that he might bring the detective back in three weeks rather than keeping his new pet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fight Over Belongings

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of dubious consent in which blackmail, coercions and threats of death are used to force John's hand. If you are uncomfortable with such things, please do not read.

Jim knew he was playing a very special game, one that could backfire on him spectacularly. Yet, should it work, he knew that he would have Holmes broken, ready for his return to Watson. Should it fail, then Jim may not ever return home and Sebastian had directions on how to handle the pet.

As he led the way to the residence, Jim did not once look back at John. He trusted he would follow, too eager to ensure that he had Holmes back to him to actually think logically about what he was doing or where they were going. 

Opening the door, he stepped aside to allow the good Doctor to precede him. He did so with a curl of his lip, pausing as he entered the foyer. Despite the shadows around his eyes, his gaze was sharp and steady. 

"This is a boarding house." No question to his words, merely a statement of fact.

"Very good," he said. "We're on the second floor."

Giving him nothing more as he mounted the stairs. The door was, as he had requested, unlocked though not open. Once more he pushed open a door, stepping back for Watson to enter. 

There was no hesitation, moving within. Jim wondered if he'd tried to listen to see if there were others on the first floor, or in the room across the hallway from their own. He wondered if he hoped that this place employed a woman as efficient as Mrs. Hudson who might hear if Jim tried to hurt him. Had Watson asked, he could well have told him they were alone in the boarding house but it wasn't information he was willing to volunteer. 

Without a word, Watson checked in the closet, looked under the bed. He checked the entire room before turning back to Moriarty. 

"What do you want? You've got me here, so now what do you want?"

There was no answer. Deliberately Jim took his wallet out of his pocket, laying it on the dresser. A silver slim-line device was laid against it. Slipping out of his jacket, he hung it over the back of one of the straight back chairs that were played around a circular laminate table.

"What I want now is for you to shower. Please, go in and use the shower. Help yourself. Then, I want you back out here," he said, turning to face Watson. "Don't worry about clothes."

"What kind of game are you playing at, Moriarty?"

"Do what you're told, Doctor, or it will be a year before you get your darling Sherlock back. Which will it be?"

For a long time their eyes met, warring. One gaze was wild, angry and filled with rage. The other amused and assured of victory. John tugged off his jumper, tossing it into the corner. He slammed the bathroom door behind him.

Smiling, Jim moved to strip the blankets of the bed, piling the pillows up against the headboard. Pausing at the dresser, he adjusted his things before moving back to the bed.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he toed off his shoes but left on his socks. Pushing back, he moved to settle himself against the pillows with his legs crossed at the ankles. A bit of a wriggle, a tug, and he settled in to listen to the water running, thinking about what was running through John's mind. Everything Jim could imagine likely had him in a panic, wanting to run but it hadn't stopped him from heading into the shower. 

He sighed, realizing he should have ordered him to shave too. He looked so much more vulnerable without that scruff to mar the clean lines of his jawline. A shame there wouldn't be a next time but he would make do with what he had.

The door opened and Doctor John Watson stood there, his hair damp and skin gleaming with missed rivulets of water. A towel was wrapped about the narrow lines of his waist. 

"Now what?"

"Now," Jim murmured, watching him from where he lay on the bed. "You lose the towel, and come here and have a seat." The last was said with a deliberate spreading of his legs, patting the mattress there. "Your back to my chest, and make yourself comfortable."

"Are you insane?"

"That is debatable," he conceded. "But if you want him back in three weeks, and I will give you your three weeks, you either come and sit and do exactly what I say, or it's a year and you risk either him dying or me keeping him," he allowed, speaking slowly and calmly. "Now, do you agree to do what I say without all of this name calling and arguing or do I leave you here to put back on your dirty clothes and take Sherlock your best?"

The tension in the room was palpable, tight and heavy around them. John's fingers shook as he reached for the end of the towel and jerked it loose, letting the terrycloth fall to the floor. 

"That's much better," Jim murmured, offering encouragement. He was learning so much about training others through his time with Holmes. "Now, Doctor, come here."

No name, just that title. A name was intimate, it was friendly. That wasn't what this was about. 

The bed dipped as he moved to get up onto the mattress, twisting to drop onto the bed between Jim's legs, taking the required position.

"You do obey orders so well," he murmured. "I'm impressed. Now, here are the rules. You don't fight me. You don't leave until I say we're done. I want you to be vocal. Honestly, I don't care if you feel it or not, I want you to sound like this is the best thing you've ever had," he said, voice still in that low, silky murmur. "Do you understand me," he asked.

"Whatever," he muttered.

"No, that is not what I'm asking. Do you understand me," he asked, sliding his hand along Watson's chest, finger tweaking his nipple. 

"Yeah. I understand you," he growled. 

Jim couldn't see his expression but he could only imagine the scowl on John's face. 

"Now, that's a good boy. Remember, you're supposed to be enjoying this."

Another tweak of his nipple as his other hand moved to stroke over the flaccid flesh of his cock with a delicate touch.

"You will enjoy this. I want to hear it. I don't care if you're always silent but I want to hear every moan, every whimper. I want you to roar when you come," he said, whispering the words against John's ear. "I'll try and make this as pleasurable for you as I can, but know this. It doesn't end until you get off."

"Are you kid…" He cut back the words, nearly biting them off. "Fine. Enjoying it."

Jim smiled, curling nimble fingers around John and giving a small twist of his wrist, working to get him full erect. "I'm so glad you're agreeing to this. Now, relax and enjoy."

Both fell silent as he dropped his other hand down. One trying to bring his dick to hardness, the other stroking over his sac. After a moment he canted his head, nuzzling at the side of his neck. He was gentle, using the most intimate notions he could think of to override the other man's rage. It wasn't long before the body reacted to what the mind resisted.

"That's a good boy, Doctor," he whispered, nipping at his earlobe. "Come on. Let me hear it. Let me hear you like it and I promise to give you a fantasy to bring you off."

He'd already worked it out in his head, knowing what he wanted to implant in his mind. The game was still very much afoot and Jim had realized what he needed to do to win. All he'd had to do was separate himself from his emotions.

The first moan was low, tentative. It sounded as forced as it felt, but Jim nodded, cooing to him.

"That's it. Come on now. Just close your eyes and think about him. Think about how much he is waiting to do this."

He felt Watson's cock jerk at his words. Well well, he hadn't been wrong in that assumption. Interesting.

"Does he know how much you want him? That you're willing to do all of this, just to have him back with you, maybe doing this to you with those long, elegant fingers? Does he know you would be his willing slut," he asked.

Blood rushed through John, filling his cock. Jim made a small sound of delight. 

"Oh, you like that idea," he said, his stroking so much easier as Watson's dock lengthened in his grip. He brought his hand up to John's face. "Spit for me."

There was no hesitation. He did.

The next stroke was easier, smoothed by the lubricant. His touch sped up as his own breathing quickened as he continued.

"I suspect though it's something more you want. You are there to watch over him, protect him, guide him, aren't you? You aren't his plaything, he's yours. You wouldn't be his willing slut though, you want him for your own," he said, not asking. Especially not when that next sound came. A loud groan that rumbled through John, vibrating against Jim's chest.

"Oh that is what you want, isn't it? Oh will you be so happy when you get him back. He'll be such a willing plaything in your hands, just as you are in mine."

Jim shifted, spreading his own legs a bit wider so that when he pressed a hand between John's thighs, it was obvious what he wanted. The good doctor didn't resist, offering himself with a roll of his hips and thighs spreading with eagerness. It didn't just show in his movements but the sounds he made as well. Low growls, tiny groans and a soft whisper that Jim hadn't even expected. Sherlock's name.

"Want him like this, don't you? Eager and willing, begging you for more," he whispered, thumb running over the head of John's cock. He gasped, pushing up against Jim's hands.

"That's it. Fuck yourself against my hand. Show me how much you want his touch, the heat of his mouth around you. Maybe bent over, that lean, tight body stretched out for you as you punish him for letting himself be captured. How angry are you for letting himself become mine and not yours?"

"Fuck you," he managed to bite out, words hushed and breathless.

"No, you want to fuck him. Admit it. Tell me you want to punish him," he demanded, hand speeding up along his cock. "All for being mine."

"He's not yours." Jim was barely stroking him, Jim's own movements slamming his cock up into the tight curl of Jim's fist. "No matter what you do to him, he's mine. You are a thief and a bastard," he snarled, panting heavily as he worked to get himself off.

"Show me how much you want him." It was a softly couched demand. The next word was not. "Now, Doctor!"

His teeth laid claim to John's neck, marking him, making that claim though he'd never agreed that Sherlock was the doctor's. He would never know if it was the teeth, the command, or the man thinking about Sherlock. None of the reasons mattered. All that mattered was that rough sound he made, that near roar as he came. 

And all of it captured on that camera that looked like his cellphone that had been so strategically placed on the dresser. 

"That's a good boy," he murmured. "I'm very impressed, Doctor. Now, do get up and get dressed," he said, giving him a push with one hand as he wiped the other on the sheets. "Let me up so I can clean up."

Even as he said it, he started wriggling to get up, to leave John there as he panted, trying to recover from his release. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he slid back on his shoes and padded to the bathroom.

Washing his hands, he took his time drying them, leaving John laying there, spent and worn and panting to try and recover from their game. 

When he came out, the good doctor was already dressing, the sheets mussed from where he had tried to clean himself off.

"Three weeks, Moriarty, and then you're fair game for me to kill you."

Laughing, he picked up his wallet and the camera, sliding them into his pockets. "Three weeks and you'll be much too busy to worry about me," he taunted, slipping out of the room. 

By the time John got his jeans on and got out of the boarding house, Moriarty was gone.


End file.
